


Like a Dream

by stephanericher



Series: 31 Days of Horoscopes [18]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:49:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: 1/29: A very beautiful, romantic dream could inspire exalted artistic activities today, Aquarius. You might want to paint, draw, write, compose music, sew, or cook up a new recipe. Whatever you do, you won't do it simply for your own amusement. You will want to show your work to others and seek their opinions and approval. Your business acumen could be as active as your artistic side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so this 31-day challenge is based on the wonderful [31-Day Horoscope Challenge by @icandrawamoth](http://archiveofourown.org/series/621022). Simply: read your horoscope for the day from horoscope.com (Aquarius for me); use it as a writing prompt.

“Hey,” Taiga says. “How’s the marinade coming?”

Tatsuya spins around, his smile sweet and almost surreal. There’s a drop of soy sauce on his cheek; somehow he’s managed to spill some white wine on the tablecloth; the shaker of garlic powder is tipped over (at least the cap is on).

“Almost ready,” says Tatsuya.

Taiga leans forward to kiss the soy sauce off his cheek; Tatsuya laughs and squirms against him , fitting his hands around Taiga’s waist. Taiga swallows, bringing his lips to Tatsuya’s jaw.

“The marinade…” Tatsuya whispers.

Right, the marinade. Taiga pulls away. “Should I get the chicken out?”

“Yes, please.”

Even in their packaging, the wings look like they’ll cook up juicy and tender. Until then, though, there will be lots of time where they’re just sitting in the marinade and Taiga can have Tatsuya all to himself, so the sooner they get them in the better. He’s just peeling back the plastic wrap and taking out the wings when a blaring sound starts up in the background and he opens his eyes.

He’s in the bedroom; Tatsuya’s nestled against him and rubbing the sleep from his eyes and Taiga tries hard not to think back to their bodies pressed together in the dream-kitchen.

“Hey,” Taiga says, bumping his foot against Tatsuya’s.

“Hey,” says Tatsuya, blinking up at him.

His hair is tousled and the sheets are loose around him and Taiga’s almost forgetting about the wings and the kitchen and the dream (maybe they should stay in bed all day). But then his stomach growls and, yeah, that’s not going to happen.

“We should have wings for dinner,” Taiga says. “There’s a new recipe I want to try.”

Tatsuya accepts this (to be fair, they’ve had stranger conversations just after waking up). He bumps his foot back against Taiga’s and smiles. “Sounds good.”

* * *

Taiga remembers most of what was in the dream marinade, soy sauce and white wine and lime juice and  onion, powdered garlic and paprika and cayenne. It’s a slight variation on one of their standby recipes, but enough of a difference to be exciting. Taiga still hasn’t told Tatsuya about the dream; he’s not sure how to say he’d dreamed up a marinade and about the two of them feeling each other up in the middle of making it. It sounds stupid and weird (not that Tatsuya would really care about that, but Taiga’s having trouble justifying it to himself even though it’s his dream).

Taiga pushes Tatsuya to take care of the marinade himself (even though he’s usually the one who fusses over Tatsuya splashing things everywhere). He chops the onions into quarters of wheels; Tatsuya mixes the spices into the wine and soy sauce. It looks like they have enough to fit all the chicken they’d bought, and Taiga drops in the onion. When he turns around from washing the knife and cutting board and his hands, he stops.

Tatsuya has a drop of soy sauce on his cheek, just like in the dream, and he’s giving Taiga a look not unlike that one. It’s more in focus here, and the turn of his mouth and shine in his gaze are ten million times as good as what Taiga can imagine.

“Taiga?” Tatsuya says. “You okay?”

“I had this dream,” says Taiga. “Last night. That we were making wings like this, and you had soy sauce on your face.”

Tatsuya laughs, not unkindly. “And then what?”

He probably knows already, and that might make it better. Taiga grins at him, slowly crossing the three steps between them, leaning over and ghosting his lips over Tatsuya’s cheek until he feels Tatsuya’s breathing hitch and he can’t wait any longer. He kisses Tatsuya’s skin, licking off the soy sauce. He hears the sound of Tatsuya practically slamming his hand on the island behind them to steady himself and catches Tatsuya around the waist with one arm, pushing their bodies together. Tatsuya brings his free hand up to Taiga’s face and pushes his torso back against Taiga’s, his leg between Taiga’s thighs.

“Is this what happened next?”

“No…we put the wings in.”

“Oh,” says Tatsuya, and he starts to draw back.

“Tatsuya,” Taiga’s practically whining (actually whining if he’s honest with himself). “This is better than that.”

“Is it?” says Tatsuya, and he’s saying it just to say it.

Taiga pulls him in closer and lets the gesture speak for itself, kissing Tatsuya’s ear and trailing his hands lower to grab Tatsuya’s ass. Tatsuya’s already grinding against him, and Taiga’s breaths are getting shorter; he buries his face in Tatsuya’s hair and screws his eyes shut, pushing against him until the clang of a solid on glass makes his eyes fly open.

The bottle of wine, still uncorked, is wobbling wildly next to Tatsuya’s elbow; he reaches over and grabs the neck to steady it. Taiga glances around for any other hazards, but there’s nothing else open and nearby.

“We should get back to the prep work,” Tatsuya says, still steadying the bottle. “We need to put the wings in before it gets too late.”

Taiga sighs. This is his least favorite part of the dream; even though making the wings is important he’d rather hold onto Tatsuya now and eat a really late dinner. Tatsuya twists around in his arms, and Taiga pulls him in close, tucking his chin over Tatsuya’s shoulder. He can feel Tatsuya’s half-suppressed laugh, though he doesn’t try to dislodge Taiga. He stoppers the wine and flips the top of the soy sauce closed. There are no toppled spice bottles here, but there are a few spare pieces of onion skin to be thrown into the trash. Tatsuya unwraps the chicken and dumps it into the marinade; it splashes up but only gets on Tatsuya’s wrists this time. Taiga closes his eyes; the smell of the marinade mixes nicely with Tatsuya’s soap. Tatsuya leans back against his chest and sighs, quiet but not too low for Taiga to feel.

“We need plastic wrap,” says Tatsuya.

Taiga kisses the base of his neck. That can wait another five minutes, can’t it?


End file.
